


The Same Old Brand New AU

by Chinapiggy



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, AU: University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Happy, Indulgent, M/M, Multi, Professor - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut, maybe a lil bit, no angst here...well, student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinapiggy/pseuds/Chinapiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece of indulgent AU fluff to satisfy my sweet Solavellan tooth! </p><p>Professor!Solas and Student!Lavellan meet in an AU where magic and modernity mix magnificently! ;) Student Lavellan is rustic and untutored, and Solas is as always, her grumpy and prickly Ha'hren. Dare he allow his feelings for a student to betray his moral code?! Scandal!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late, for a very important date.

**Author's Note:**

> I really need feedback guys, this is my first ever work! Please let me know if it is worth continuing, and if you want to read more!

Lavellan stood, hands on knees, gasping for breath. She glanced at the watch on her wrist, and swore under her breath. She was late - by almost a full ten minutes.

Looking at the (mountain) of stairs ahead of her to the lecture theatre, she sighed. There was nothing for it, she would have to run through her stitch. She straightened and hitched her bulging backpack over her shoulders, and tucked her head to her chest.

"No time to waste, Lavellan. Now go!" And with that thought, she pumped her legs and flew up the steps. She didn't stop at the top, and ran full pelt into the double doors at the end of the corridor, naively assuming it would lead to the antechamber of the hall. She realised as she skidded to a halt, the smash of the doors against the wall heretically loud, that she was wrong. Very wrong. As an entire lecture theatre of over a hundred curious faces started and looked her way.

" _Fenedhis, Fenedhis, FeneDHIS_ ", she chanted in her head, as she felt the all too familiar blush heat her cheeks. Perhaps her head might burst into flame, it would surely not stand the heat now positively fanning out from her in waves. She was frozen, until a pointed and (could a throat clearing be icy? It felt icy) sharp noise behind her made her turn mutely on the spot.

With one tapered eyebrow pointing skyward, her professor stood before her. And he looked pissed.

Wishing the ground would swallow her, she tried to choke out an apology, reverting to her native tongue in her embarrassment and confusion -  
" _Ir abelas, Hahren, ar..._ " but it was cut off by his sharp reprimand.

"This class begins at 9a.m., and if you cannot be here to hear the beginning, it is not worth you attending at all. You do plan to attend, yes?"

His voice was measured, and full of disapproval, as she felt his eyes rake over her dishevelled appearance. She jerked her head in a nod, aware of all the eyes looking over her; with derision she assumed.

"And, we speak only the Common Tongue during my lectures. It is rude to exclude those around us. Do you understand, Miss-?"

He ended on a question, clearly expecting her name. Lavellen swallowed the ball of anguish that threatened to erupt from her throat and whispered,  
"Lavellan, Professor, my name is -".

"Lavellan will do. Take a seat. The lecture can finally begin."  
He turned on his heel and strode back to the centre of the hall. Lavellan slumped into a desk near the door, not trusting her feet to carry her further away, and hoped that the earth might swallow her. She felt rather than heard the titters around her die down as the tall elvhen man called the class to order and began the lecture; an introduction to the syllabus.

  
This was exactly what she was dreading - the class she was most looking forward to, and she had managed to make a fool of herself. As she shuffled, trying to inconspicuously retrieve her notepad and pen, she felt her embarrassment turn to anger, a hot ball of it that settled deep in her stomach and began to boil. How dare he, she thought - to embarrass her in front of everyone, to make a point of her elvish - when she was just trying to apologise, no less! She fumed and twisted in her seat, copying the slides that appeared on the screen almost without seeing them. She huffed in frustration, but to her annoyance, her Professors voice cut through her indignation to wake the part of her that really was interested in this course.

"As I was saying," he drawled, and Lavellan's face burned again, "throughout the semester I will be teaching you not only the historical significance of the art of Ancient Arlathan, but also the cultural impact of the fall of the Ancient Elvhen and the loss of what is commonly known as Fade Magic. With diligence and application, and prolonged study of the theory, it has been assumed that it is possible that any one of the magically gifted here could actually attempt it. History is not all dry facts and dates", and here he smirked, as there were surely some among the students that had taken this course as a filler, "and the resurrection of ancient and powerful knowledge may indeed enhance your other studies." Here, he turned, and gestured lazily at a sconce that had sat empty on his desk, incongruous next to the softly whirring laptop. With a curl of his wrist, electric blue flames erupted from the sconce to flicker eerily against the brash overhead lights.

  
"Veilfire." he said, smiling dryly as he took in the gasps of some of his (now) attentive students. "Not actual fire, which any mage can summon, being corporeal, but the shadow of the past - of a fire that once burnt in another time. It was no more than a parlor trick to the elvhen of Arlathen. Perhaps by the end of the year, some of you may be able to summon it yourselves."  
He turned and skirted the desk, clicking as a new set of slides appeared on the overhead. "The application and history of Veilfire, and its uses. This is your suggested reading, along with the first chapter that has been noted in your syllabus guide. I shall see you all, next time". His voice was soft and low, but had the strange ability to carry across the open spaces. Lavellan was gazing at the Veilfire, lost in thought, when another flick of his palm extinguished it. She shook her head with a start, and began to leave with the rest of the class, when his voice rang out once more.

"Lavellan. A word?"

She sighed, the anger and embarrassment came flooding back like the flicker of those blue flames as the people nearest her, a pair of dwarves, tittered and pushed past her. She thought he was done when he had chastened her in front of the whole class, but clearly she was in for more scolding. She squared her shoulders and sighed, approaching the desk warily.

He was not looking at her, but typing, his long fingers nimbly flying across the keys. She stood opposite him, and took the opportunity to look at the object of her frustrations. He was tall, bald, and elvhen, like her. These were the obvious - but she look in his dress, a style that she knew full well from the pictures in the few books of history on Arlathan she had managed to browse before classes, and came to the conclusion that it was his passion for his subject that had piqued his ire with her. She noted his frown, and thought it best to apologise again.

" _Hahren, on dhea - ar abelas, el'druamah mas_ -" she stuttered, promising to make it up to this cold and somewhat intimidating elf before her.  
At her words, he looked up, slightly confused. He replied in the common tongue, making her blush again - she always slipped back into elvhen, betraying her country roots. She hated the common tongue - it felt unwieldy and rough in her mouth.

  
"Thank you, Lavellan. Your apology is accepted. As for your -" he coughed, "atonement", he reached behind the screen and pushed a copy of the syllabus towards her; she had missed them being handed out before, "It would be acceptable if you completed the necessary reading before our next lecture." She took the booklet, and smiled. His eyes met hers for the briefest moment, their pure and startling grey meeting her own gold. "And do not be late again."  
She swooped her head down, blushing again (when will her blood quit making a fool of her every ten seconds!) and nodded. " _Dareth Shiral, Hahren_ ", she mumbled.

" _Dareth Shiral_. And my name is Professor Hasalfen." He turned back to the screen, lost again to the keyboard.

Lavellan stopped outside the lecture hall to collect her thoughts, and slide the course outlines into her bag. She felt her pocket vibrate, and fished out her phone. A quick swipe of her thumb unlocked the screen, and she took a moment to read her text.

-Dor. 10.01am.  
**How'd it go? Did you make it? Coffee?**

She smiled, thinking at least her exuberant friend would enjoy the story of her entrance to her first ever class at Ferelden University, and sent him a reply.

-Outgoing Message:  
**Coffee wud b gr8! where r u?**

And with that, she proceeded down the stairs she had flown up in a much more considered fashion to meet with her companion, who hopefully would be holding a large mug of something sinfully sweet.


	2. Coffee with an extra shot of Mortification, please.

Lavellan took a second in the bathrooms of the library coffee shop to straighten herself out. She sighed as she peered in the full length mirror, she did look dishevelled. It was no wonder Hasalfen thought she merely couldn't wake up.

She yawned hugely, peering in at her teeth, and giggled to herself. Oh well, she thought, it wasn't her problem. She knew how hard she'd tried to make it on time. Hopefully her ridiculous luck would improve - and she debated with herself, it wasn't possible that all her battery would die AND wouldn't sound the alarm twice in one week, was it?

She brushed back her unruly hair into a slightly sleeker version of it's natural frizzy self, and tucked the black strands that insisted on falling into her face behind one pointed ear. She tweaked them in the mirror, sighing internally. They were just so...pointy. Whilst she was not ashamed of her race; she could not deny that living in a primarily human city was going to be very, very difficult.

She pulled down her rumpled sweater, and exited the bathroom, following the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans up a flight of small stairs and onto the cafe balcony. There, she smiled as she caught sight of the brightest and most ostentatious purple silk jacket. Rolling her eyes, she cuffed the shiny coiffure that was nestled into the neck of the jacket, and swung down into a seat.

"Dor!" she beamed at him. "Please tell me that mocha is for me?" She snatched at the cup in front of him, and buried her nose in the cream swirled on top.

"Well!" Dorian replied, "it certainly is now! How insufferably rude you are, I have no idea why I put up with such treatment, really. Don't you know how important the first coffee of the day is to me?" He grinned, and swiped at the cup, which Lavellan held out of his reach. "Shocking behaviour. Should expect no less from an elf, I suppose."

And with that barb that sent Lavellan snorting into the cream, he rose and ordered another coffee.

As he returned, she rejoined, "And I should expect that a self obsessed Vint would of course think about himself before all others, why didn't you order two, you kaffas!"

He guffawed and shook a finger at her. "Lavellan! How you wound me! Now, lets stop this charming discourse, and why don't you tell me about this morning? I thought you would have been at the doors half an hour early. What happened?"

She sighed and pouted. "Dor, I swear, you'll not believe it. Well. You know how I said I was having a bit of trouble with the place I was supposed to be staying?"

He nodded, a frown creasing two perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Go on."

"Yes. Um. Well." She gulped, and took a large swig of very hot coffee to steel her nerves. Spluttering, she faced down her friend and let it all spill out in one hasty huff; "Well, shit, Dor. So I turn up at the student Allodates, you know, the ones for scholarship students?" Again he nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "They, er. Well. They apparantly were not told that 'a filthy rabbit' was coming to stay."

She stopped when she saw the apoplectic expression on Dorian's face. "I know! Please Dor, let me just get it out, then you may rant. Anyway, it was clear that there was no place for me there, and to be honest, I felt like stabbing the woman anyway. I may have told her to go suck the Dread Wolf's cock, actually, but I doubt she understood me."

She smirked, though it was clear the anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. "And it was too late to call you, Dor, I tried, but my stupid phone was about to die, and I had to make sure the alarm would sound, and it was so late, and I know it was stupid of me, but I was so mad, that, oh... Dor, I slept in a tree!"

She snorted, draining her cup, "Like the, er, 'filthy rabbit' I am, I suppose." The sound of her laugh was hollow. "And then, of course I was late, and of course I smash down the doors to the lecture theatre as I run in, panting like a racehorse, and the bloody Professor decided to chew me out in front of everyone. I try to apologise to the ridiculous man, and he cuts me down for speaking in Elvhen! I mean, the man is an elf! I swear, Dor, I was just about to explode. And then he chunters on about how if we try really hard, we too can make Veilfire, but he didn't look like he believed it, and Gods! I want to blow up a lamp with it right in his face! That'd show him; yeah, the lazy rabbit _CAN_ actually do it. Anyway," she took a deep breath and looked at Dorian, "How was your morning?"

 "Really? ' _How was your morning, Dorian_?' That's what you finish with? After telling me you slept outside, Lavellan, I swear to the ugly asses of the Tevinter Gods, how could you be so..., so..., well! So bloody-minded!?

The deep-golden skinned man in front of her was turning a rather interesting shade of purple. Lavellan smiled weakly, and shrugged.

"I'm sorr-", she started, but was cut off by a flood of Tevine. She caught more than a few vulgar phrases, and her own name, and decided to wait it out. Dorian stopped abruptly, after a particularly sharp-sounding epithet.

"No! Apology is not accepted." He flung his hands up in a 'stop traffic' motion, manicured fingers an inch from Lavellan's nose. "You are a menace. I love you, Elfy, but this simply won't do. From now on, you are the luckiest girl in all of Fereldan!" He proclaimed with relish.

Lavellan frowned, and took the bait. "Okay, I'll bite. Why am I the luckiest girl in all of Fereldan?"

"Because, dearest, you are now living with the most desired man in all of Fereldan!" Dorian preened slightly, examining a speck of invisible dust on the end of a nail. "Of course, it wouldn't do any of the ladies a blind bit of good even if they were in your place, seeing as the one who'd most likely suck the Dread Wolf's very own cock is, well," he spread his hands wide and grinned saucily, "Me!"

The pair of them fell about laughing, drawing stares from the other students in the cafe, and after the vivid mental images had finally left their brains, sat, hands clasped.

"Thank you, Dorian." Lavellan said. "I really appreciate it."

"It's nothing, of course", the man replied, "whilst having one's own set of apartments does sound rather grand, in reality, it's quite lonesome." Lavellan snickered. "Anyway! What a cock, yes? Your professor? What was his name?"

"Hasalfen," Lavellen supplied. Dorian shrugged and said, "Never heard of the bloke."

"Ha, Dor, you'd have to be taking Ancient Elvhen Culture to have heard of him, I swear, he's written the entire booklist. I doubt you get much use out of our pretty words when you go about casting your weird blood magic, or whatever it is you study." Lavellen chortled, and presented Dorian with the recommended reading list. It was as she said. All the books were written by a "S. F. H. Haselfen". He glanced at it perfunctorily, and raised an eyebrow.

"Gosh, what an ego. He'd even be a match for me! And, by the way, it is not 'blood magic', you ignorant elf, it is The Way of the Necromancer. No blood, just dead people!"

"Yes, _and_ he's almost as pretty as you, too." She said with a chuckle.

They stood, ready to leave, and hung over the balcony watching the crush of students try to exit the two barrier operated exits to the library. A glint of sunlight caught Lavellan's eye, and she hissed and grabbed Dorian's arm.

"Look!" she pointed, "there he is!" The sunlight that had caught her eye had bounced off a particularly round bald head. A pair of sharply pointed ears and the bare dome of her professor cut through the milling students like butter. He strode purposefully, she noticed, as if the people around him were barely even there. Indeed, the students seemed to part like rushes before him, and he left a large gap in his wake.

"The bald elf, yes?" Dorian faux-whispered.

Unfortunately, the fates aligned at that moment to allow for a sudden lull in the general hubbub, and his voice, not very good at whispering in the first place, carried cleanly down to the level below. Lavellan could almost see the words softly drifting through the air to alight on Haselfen's head.

She groaned inwardly, and attempted to duck down out of sight, but her arm was still clasped by the irrepressible Tevine, and it was so that his grey eyes flashed up to lock once more into her gold.

For the second time that morning, Lavellan chanted ugly words in her head and could do nothing but stare, aghast, as a look of irritable dismissal flickered over his chiselled features. His eyebrow quirked up again, and he strode on.

Lavellan sank to the floor whilst Dorian giggled like a boy, and moaned into her hands whilst her blood filled her cheeks. It was only at the end of the day, after they'd arrived back at Dorian's home (her home, too, now) and she'd collapsed into bed for the evening that she wondered why it bothered her so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slow build, it seems! Again, please give me feedback! I hope that the "throw you into it" style is okay. There will be more exposition, I swear! For now, know that Dor is in his seventh year (because Magic University takes longer than normal, like med school), and our sweet Lavellan, is of course, just starting out. 
> 
> Kaffas - "Shit", in Tevine.


	3. Yo-Magi-Cise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh dear! This is a long one :) Lavellan recalls her history, and then heads out to try and take her mind off things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really enjoyed writing it, and I wanted to give y'all both some backstory and some Solavellan, too! Plus the idea came to me as I was having lunch and I actually made myself LOL!

The next week passed in a blur. Lavellan spent her time rushing from one class to the next, scribbling in her untidy Elvhen notes that no one but her could read.

She'd moved down from the Free Marshes as soon as she'd received notice that she'd won the scholarship from the University. She'd not even told her Keeper until it came through. It had arrived on a particularly sunny morning in the early summer - the clan had been settled into a particular spot in the Marches for some time, and she'd taken the opportunity to sneak off whenever she could, to the nearest town.

A bit of snooping here and there had discovered that there were still three places left on the upcoming year's scholarship courses. Lavellan knew she had to be one of them. She'd never felt truly that living as the Dalish do that their lifestyle was honestly the best way to keep to the "Old Ways". The legends and the stories seemed patchy, and inconsistent. She wanted to _know_.

After pestering the Keeper for weeks with incessant questions, Deshanna had relented (or given in) and allowed Lavellan to study at a local school, where she learnt to read the common tongue, and snuck back books from the library at any and every opportunity. Devouring the texts that were available in the rural town had only made the flame burn hotter inside her. There was still so much to know! Especially about magic, and the Elvhen themselves. She didn't understand why the rituals were the way they were, and no one, nor the books, could give her an answer.

A teacher that had been less racist than the others had told her that there were ways to learn more - but she'd have to enrol at the University, and to be quite honest, it was doubtful that a Dalish rabbit would ever have the money to do so. Lavellan had shrugged off that estimate. She knew there had to be a way. She had swallowed her ever-present rage at the way the Elvhen were treated, and sweetly marked her target.

That teacher became the recipient of the best Elvhen foods, sweet honey-bradh, the finest Halla cheese, stolen from this year's harvest, and a pretty woven feather-net. Lavellan knew her mark, and had left with an application to the University, AND knowledge of the scholarship program.

She never knew who had read the submissions essay, but a human runner had appeared at the camp under armed guard that fateful sunny morning. The guardian archers had told Keeper Deshanna that he'd been lurking at the edges of the forest, that they'd found him, and he'd told them he had a package for Lavellan. Deshanna was wary, of course, but before anyone could object, a blur of black hair and dark brown skin had pounced on the poor human and seized her prize.

She always was a fast runner, and if her magic hadn't come out, she might have even become a hunter. She'd blistered through the trees, avoiding the snatches of jovial friends, and climbed to her current favourite tree. It was there that she had unwrapped the invitation to study 'The History of Magic and Ancient Elvhen Cultures' at Ferelden University.

She had laughed until she'd cried, holding the thick parchment signed with a loopy signature from the Dean of Students, Lady Vivienne de Fer, and backed by the President of the University itself, Nightingale Leliana! She had hugged the congratulatory note and thick sheaf of papers that detailed the terms and the Allodate; where the students that could not afford regular housing lived.

It was at this point that it had sunk in, and she knew she had to tell Keeper Deshanna that she would be leaving. As the First of the clan, this was not going to go down well.

It had been an argument of epic proportions. Deshanna was by nature a rigid and exacting woman, and Lavellan had a obstinate streak and more than a dash of temper. They had ended up shouting across the fire pit whilst the rest of the clan slowly and quietly shuffled away to tend to other suddenly very important duties.

It was breaking all the traditions that the Dalish held dear, but Lavellan didn't care; the deep need to finally _know_ and understand trumped whatever obligations she might have had. Keeper Deshanna had finally washed her hands of her, publicly cutting the ties that bound her to the clan, and told her to leave. She had hoped that it would not have come to this, but it was an acceptable sacrifice.

 _'All knowledge is worth having'_ was the refrain that had echoed in Lavellan's head as she had left the Marches, and made the long, lonely journey to FU. She had wished that the tome that that particular piece of wisdom had come from was in her pack to keep her company, but she'd had to travel light.

Since moving into Dorian's spacious (and ridiculously opulent) apartments, the blur of classes and finding her feet in a massive city had helped soothe the ache that being estranged from her clan had created in her chest, but sometimes the edges started to rub a little raw. It was on one of these mornings, where she'd no classes to attend, and Dorian had left in a cloud of perfume for study group (though she was reasonably sure that Dor's study group was actually a date, and that no studying would be achieved), that she had decided the best way to banish the raincloud in her ribs was to throw herself into something new.

She'd seen the advertisement when she'd arrived; a large fayre had been held, with all the curious and singular clubs and activities listed and touted by older students displayed on tables in one of the great halls. The halls reminded her of the belly of a longship, turned upside down and suspended fifty feet above her head, beautiful, but also slightly unnerving, at the same time. At the time of the fayre, nothing had appealed to her, it had all been a pleasantly garish blur.

Now however, she had walked to the campus gym in the hope of finding some sort of class that would allow her to blow off some steam. Luckily, there was the perfect thing on the notice board -

**DO YOU LIKE YOGA?**

**ARE YOU A MAGE?**

**SEARCH NO FURTHER!**

**JOIN YO-MAGI-CISE NOW!**

Lavellan frowned and peered closer at the advert, which apparently promised buns of steel alongside perfect staff poise. It was a class for a mix of stave practice and yoga. It was improbable. And ridiculous. And perfect.

What made it even more ideal was that a class started in twenty minutes, which was more than enough time to grab her exercise gear and staff, and the fifty-bit fee. She entered the class dead on eleven am, and had to shrug into her workout gear in a bit of a breathless rush.

In horror she realised that she'd only brought the thin vest cropped bra that normally layered over another tee, and her cut off leggings. Sighing at her luck, which still seemed in the gutter after that awful incident the library (Gods Lavellan! Don't think about ~~him~~ that now!), she glanced through the panelled doors to the studio. A lot of the humans in there were wearing no more than she had with her, and there was one Qunari woman that seemed to be wearing a pair of belts strapped tightly around a (admittedly flat and muscular) chest.

She puffed out her cheeks and pulled it on, shrugged out of her baggy trousers and into the leggings. They were actually coming up a little tight, she must have gained a pound or two, she thought. It was Dorian and his interminable desire for wine with every meal. She looked at her backside in the mirror and shrugged (Not bad, Lavellan, not bad at all. Another few weeks and you might actually have an ass!). Grabbing her staff, she jogged into the room and glanced around.

Everyone was still warming up, it seemed, and so she joined them, planting her staff and bending down to breathe deeply with her eyes closed.

"Alright then, my dumplings! Let's start!"

A chirpy voice called them to attention and Lavellan straightened and looked at their trainer. A decidedly patchwork elf stood before them, a thick thatch of blonde hair obscuring their eyes and most of their ears, only the points visible through the tangles. She was wearing glaringly clashing red and yellow skin-tight attire, and had a thick wooden longbow in her hand.

"So yeah, I'm Sera, and this is my staff, innit?" She warbled at them, shaking the longbow.

More than a few questioning glances were thrown her way, and she laughed, her nose wrinking up at their expressions.

"You don't need to be a weird magey type to do this, get it? Any pole'll do! That means no casting, yeah? You gotta just pretend. That's how I like my magic - pretend. Now before we get down to the brass balls of it all", and here she laughed at herself again, "balls, ha! I want us all to say hello, and howdy-do, so its not rude when you'se all bums in each other's faces!"

She blew a raspberry, tongue flapping obscenely from between her lips, and Lavellan wondered if this crazy elf was for real. Never the less, she turned with the other disgruntled and muttering participants into forming a rough circle. Here fate gave Lavellan a swick kick in her own (brass) balls. Because who was standing there, a nauseated grimace on his (handsome) face, but S. F. H. Hasalfen himself!

He had not noticed her yet, and turning brick red, she wondered if she might be able to slink away, tail very much between legs. She did not want to be seen in what was tantamount to her underwear, sweating and stretching by her Professor! Especially seeing as he now probably thought she was talking trash about him with her friends, _and_ after making herself so memorable by her late entrance to his class.

It was too late. His face had swung around to the opposite of the rough circle, and his eyes clapped onto her own.

"FENEDHIS!" rang once more inside her head as she realised that leaving now would make it seem like she did indeed have a grudge against his stupid bald self. She lowered her gaze, hoping to just avoid eye contact, but this, too, was a mistake. Because dear Prof 'Sal was also wearing, er, "exercise" clothes.

Very tight exercise clothes. His tee was ripped at the arms, and skin tight, exposing a rather muscled chest, and he too favoured a pair of cut off leggings (maybe it was an Elvish thing?) she wondered, which seemed to have moulded themselves to his thighs and ... (Gods the word GROIN is in my head I'm thinking about his groin oh gods I'm LOOKING AT HIS GROIN) other areas.

She tore her gaze from his ~~groin~~ legs and made herself look up. His eyes were widened, the grey blue seeming to ripple in the light. It was VERY clear where he was staring. She _KNEW_ wearing just this top was a mistake. She raised her eyebrows as his eyes lifted too, and it seemed he realised she knew just where he had been looking, because a rather pretty shade of pink seemed to be rising up his ears. He looked away, hastily.

Lavellan chuckled internally, it seems even when one's own luck is shitty, at least karma is alive and well.

"Right! So you're in a circle - ha, geddit, like a circle of MAGES, ha! Now greet the person opposite you and we'll get ourselves started. Bendy mages in 3-2-1!" Sera weaved between the class, making comments and introducing herself again to whoever was closest. Lavellan closed her eyes for a brief second and took a breath. Saying a prayer to whatever gods were listening, she took a half step forward and spoke.

"Professor".

It came out slightly choked, and she began to study the wall slightly above his head with a determined interest.

"Lavellan".

He inclined his head, and coughed. The pink tinge had not left his ears. He too seemed to be looking very much not at her, certainly not anywhere near her chest, no sir. Heaving a very large sigh, to which he quirked yet another eyebrow, "Honestly! I bet it has a hard time staying in place," she thought, making a slight face in response, they took their places roughly side by side.

 _Why_ couldn't he have moved away into somewhere, well, less close?!, she wondered. The class began, with Sera enthusiastically contorting her body into some truly unique poses, and she decided to put the whole mortifying affair out of her head and concentrate on the moves.

It actually worked. Whilst she was still hyper aware of the tall and imposing body ( _do not think about the groin again Lavellan!_ ) that was moving next to her, his slight puffs of breaths did certainly _not_ break her own focus and  it seemed to Lavellan that she was doing rather well. In fact, she even began to wonder exactly how she looked. After all, she thought, he had been staring at her before, she was sure of it. She began to thrust out her chest, just a little, and was rewarded by a hastily shushed choking sound from her immediate left.

It seemed that the muscular and yet somehow so tantalisingly lean body beside her wobbled, but she couldn't be sure, as, of course, she wasn't paying any attention.

Sera had now balanced on one leg, arched the other up behind her and grasped her pointed toes with one hand. Her arched back was presenting her chest to the world, and with the other hand she held her bow horizontal to her body. It was a stunning display of balance, and looked powerful and somehow sexy at the same time. She had told them it was the finishing pose for the class, and that you should not attempt it if you were not confident; that you should do only what you felt comfortable with.

Lavellan thought she could do it, no problem. After all, she was an elf, did she not climb trees and run in the wilds? Internally snorting at her thoughts being a literal stereotype that she was actively trying to avoid, she cocked her head and stretched her neck, ready to attempt it. A lot of the other gym-goers were just doing what they could, accepting that this pose was a little too much for them. She had no idea what the Elvhen man beside her was doing, as again, she was definitely absolutely not paying any attention, and began the pose.

Leg up, yes, fine. Stretch arm back, yes, catch foot. All going well. Lavellan allowed herself a small smile as she felt her back arch, and she began to raise her staff to complete the move. She turned her head to the right to see herself in the mirrors that ran down the studio. She was right, she did look sexy. Incredibly so. Her legs were taut, and her chest was a curve that was most pleasing to the eye. 

She tilted her head a little more, trying to get the full effect, when she saw a pair of grey eyes in the mirror, and a very red, bald head. She gasped, mortified that he had seen her looking at herself and probably deducing immediately _why_ she was looking, so she wrenched her head back to centre. Too fast. She was dizzy. Oh Gods! The world was becoming slightly crooked.

She flailed with her staff, trying desperately to get some purchase, but instead was rewarded with the sound of a meaty thunk instead, as she lost her balance completely and fell in a heavy heap immediately to her left, staff connection with a horridly soft-yet-hard-at-the-same-time object.

She kept her eyes tight shut. Some kind of sniggering was occurring to her right. It sounded a lot like Sera. Deciding that she wasn't mentally prepared to deal with what she knew had happened, she took a breath and held it. Maybe she'd run out of oxygen and save herself so much shame by departing neatly to the afterlife, if there was one.

"Ah. Er, Lavellan."

A voice spoke, a deep and low voice, right by her ear. It was suprisingly close. She carried on holding her breath, becoming more aware by the second that she had landed on something soft and yet unyielding .

"Lavellan. If you could please," a cough, "extricate yourself."

His voice sounded taut, and she knew that she had to move. She opened her eyes, and found herself three inches away from Professor 'Sal's face. His eyes really were quite stunning at such close quarters, she decided, and she breathed out in a rush. His lips were parted, and she felt for a crazy second that he was going to kiss her. A second small cough interrupted that thought, and he spoke again.

"This really is rather uncomfortable, you know."

She glanced down at their entangled bodies, and realised that not only was her elbow digging into the soft flesh of his stomach, but her hand (oh gods her hand!) was nestled between his thighs, close enough to almost touch. She whipped her head around as awful comprehension dawned and began to incoherently splutter as she scrambled to her feet. His eyes had followed hers, and a strange somewhat smug smile was hovering at the edges of his lips as she jumped up, desperately not thinking about how the body moves at speed and hoping against hope she hadn't actually (oh! Gods!) brushed against... anything.

Sera hadn't stopped sniggering, although thankfully most of the class seemed to be leaving. Funny how an event that you think has stopped time and that everyone is aware of actually isn't all that big a deal to anyone else. She started stammering an apology, inwardly thinking that all she seemed to do was spend her time apologising to this man.

" _Hahren! Ir abelas!_ \----" She coughed out a steam of Elvhen, sure that her head was going to once again burst into flame. She wished she had more tops on, suddenly.

" _Ma serannas, y banal dirth'ala'en, ma fenlin_." 'Sal replied, cutting off the stream that showed no sign of stopping.

Again the small smile was playing on his lips, even as a rather red bump began to blossom on his forehead.

"Ugh! That's more than enough elfy-crap-speak for me!" Sera declared. "You're all right, yeah, so... I'll see you next session!" And with that, she strode off through the doors, leaving wretched Lavellan face to face and more worryingly, alone, with her Professor.

"I am, truly sorry, you know." She said, peering at the bump. "Professor, I-."

She was cut off again by a smooth movement on 'Sal's part, he bowed and this time the grin as he peered up from his lowered position was undeniable.

"Solas. My name is Solas. I think a clubbing about the head and then diving on top on one enables us to use our given names, no?"

She risked a small smile back, and nodded. "Okay. But you already know mine. I really am just Lavellan."

"Oh?" he replied, straightening and pushing open the door to the outer corridor, "I thought Lavellan was a clan name."

"It is," she agreed, "but my mother died before naming me, and I could hardly go around calling myself ' _oinmunain_ ', could I?" She grinned up at him as he snorted.

"Little nuglet? Yes, I quite agree. It would be... inappropriate."

He lifted that irrepressible eyebrow, and held out a hand to halt their progress. "Well, as much as I would like to continue this conversation, I do believe this is not quite the right place." He gestured at the sign above the door they had stopped at.

With another pang of shame, she saw she was about to walk into the male changing rooms with him! "Er. Yes! Ha! Sorry, again!" She stuttered, and turned to her own door. She smiled back at him, standing in those _sinful_ clothes, outlined against the frame with one arm above his head.

"See you in class, Lavellan." he said, and turned and disappeared through the door. She took a very, very large breath, and stumbled into the showers. Turning the dial all the way to cold, she stood there and began to replay the entire morning, in all its horrific glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feeeeeedback! Thank you to whoever you are for reading this! If only one person apart from me enjoys it, it is totally worth it. 
> 
> The Elvish has been cobbled together from [ FenxShiral's Project Elvhen ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061) and again, I have butchered it! It is, basically
> 
> "My thanks, but it is not necessary, little wolfpup." (literally, 'my thanks but this (your apology) was not a thing I needed to learn) 
> 
> Oinmunain = Baby nug


	4. Studying is hard...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conspiring! First nsfw mention. Non-explicit.

"I need to talk to you, Dor!" 

"Dorian. Wake up." 

" _DORIAN I SWEAR I'M COMING IN THIS CAN'T WAIT_."   
Lavellan pushed open the door to her best friend's bedroom and laughed aloud at the sight that befell her eyes. Dorian was spreadeagled face down on the massive bed, naked, apart from a tiny pair of vividly pink lace panties. A very large and suggestive set of scratches ran down his back, and a bottle of what appeared to be Bootscreech lay dripping from his hand, permeating the room with the awful aromas of tar and vinegar. 

"You are dreadful. You know that, right?" She said, moving to poke at his butt as she took a seat on the bed. A groan was all she got in reply. "Dor. These are my pants. Now I'm not saying you don't look good in them, but I might need them back soon..." She knew the only way to arouse Dor from his stupor was to make the reward of consciousness greater than the bliss of sleep.   
His warbles were becoming more interested, but were punctuated by dry heaves. Good, she thought. He's coming back to the land of the living.   
    "Dorian. Didn't you get my hint?" She pinched the skin of his hips, digging in her nails in just a little.   
"You infernal creature" issued from somewhere near the stack of pillows his head was under. "Can't you see I'm dying here? Let a man die in peace, will you? And I'm telling you now, Lavellan, subtlety when my stomach appears to be dissolving in an acid bath is not going to help." He wriggled, cursing in Tevene, and burrowed back amongst the silk throws. 

Lavellan grinned. She whispered, "Fine. I'm coming back with coffee. Be prepared", and slipped out of the room, to put an end to his misery. Two large mugs issuing the divine scent of freshly brewed coffee were the first things into the room, proceeded by the slight elf. She placed his by the jumbled bedside table, and relieved his limp hand of the bottle.   
"Ugh. How can you drink this, Dor? It doesn't even have a label - just a picture of a boot. It smells like death!" She placed it on the windowsill, opening the sash to let a stream of cool air in to help air the room out.   
"It is Death. Bottled Death. Remind me never again to drink with a Qunari." Dor mumbled, turning over and reaching for his coffee. "Bless you, Lavellan, I could kiss you for this," he sipped, and a beatific expression passed over his face.   
    "Not till you've cleaned your teeth, you filthy animal!", she giggled, and aimed a mock punch at his arm. "Study group, eh? It seems the person that studied you did so rather too well."   
Dorian smiled, and blushed. "Ah. Yes well. We were going to study. Well. I was going to study, at some point. But then I managed to bump into Varric and we decided to take a short break at that new cafe, you know the one?" Lavellan shook her head, and indicated that he should continue, knowing that whenever the younger man spent time with his Dwarven friend something untoward always managed to happen. "Well, quite." He said, correctly interpreting the look on her face. "I never managed to properly thank him for connecting me with the merchants in Orzammar; it's been integral to my final year studies, you know, and anyway, it's this Qun place downtown. Bit of a rough area, but the food is so worth it. They serve alcohol with every meal! Delightful, and so rustic." He took a long gulp of coffee, and sighed.   
"Ah, Lavellan. So rustic. So charming. So... big." A look of contentment filled his eyes, and he sighed dramatically. Lavellan rolled her eyes, "So he's what? A waiter?"   
    "No, mon petit chou, he's the head chef. They call him The Iron Bull. Magnificent. Just... magnificent." He wiped away the sleep from his eyes. "We decided to have a drink after we... well,  you know,  spent some time getting to know one another a little better," Lavellan snorted, "and then after that, I apparently ended up here. What time is it, anyway? It's dark, have I slept the whole day?". 

Lavellen turned with a beam towards him, and sipped her own coffee. "It's already six a.m., Dor, I've been up for hours! And I need to talk to you, you see-"

"SIX?! Six in the A.M.?! You witch, have you dragged me back into this world of pain at six a.m.!?" He screeched, tossing aside his empty cup and flouncing back onto the pillows, pulling one across his face. "No. Unacceptable. I refuse. Goodbye."   
Lavellan rolled her eyes again, and slipped under the sheets with him, poking at his ribs. He growled, and spoke again. "Lavellan. If you do not desist, I will summon a skeleton to carry you right out of here, you know that? Don't think I won't. I'll haunt you. I will!" Lavellan just smiled and began prodding at the tender spots on his back and neck. 

  
"Dor. You can barely open your eyes, let along summon anything. Don't make me shock you. Because I will!" A thin stream of lightning issued from her fingers and snapped in the air. She let it hover over his chest, knowing full well he could feel the mana in the room.  
Dorian ignored her, making noises that sounded somewhat like an angry nug. Lavellan leaned close to his ear and whispered;  
"I'm going to need those pants you're wearing, because... I have a crush. And you're going to love it when you find out who it is." 

  
She knew that where coffee, poking, and threats failed, gossip and secrets would win. Dorian removed the pillow and slung an arm around her, scrubbing her hair with his free hand. She dispelled the lightening with a shout of laughter, and wriggled free. He gestured to her;  
    "Ha! Okay, you menace, you win. Colour me officially intrigued, and your attentive servant. Now, tell me everything!"  
She did. "Okay. So. Even though it was all strange and weird at the start, and he totally was rude to me, I think that I might have a thing for-"  
"No. Oh no! Let me guess! Oh, this is wonderful!" Dorian interjected, "Please tell me you're going to say that bald elf professor of yours?" A gleam of amusement winked from his eyes and at Lavellan's  nod, he collapsed into giggles, mumbling in Tevine. Lavellan caught the word "egg", but having only Dor to teach her the rotten language, thankfully, she rather thought, the rest was lost on her. 

  
"Yes, okay? You're right. It's him. He was in this class that I took in the gym. I, er, managed to fall on top of him and then, somehow, practically grabbed his crotch, okay?" She blushed again at the thought of those thighs, warm enough to radiate heat, and she wondered what it would feel like to sink her teeth into them. Realizing this avenue of thought was definitely too dangerous to go down, she cleared her throat and poked Dor's ribs again, getting him to stop his chortling. 

"So. What are you going to do? Seduce your Professor? Oh, this is gold, pure gold." He said, rolling out of bed and stretching. Lavellan pulled up her knees to her chest and pouted at him.   
"You know full well I have no idea what to do, Dorian, I was a First. We're not allowed to date. If you hadn't taken pity on the weird Dalish elf trying to blend into the human bar in the Marches, I wouldn't even know anything about anything, let alone seduction!" 

  
She remembered their first meeting, where in a bid to covertly (at least, she thought it was covert) find out more about the University, she had eavesdropped in the only bar in the small town in the Marches. The teachers from the human school had often spent time there, and it was so that she was discovered by this flamboyant and handsome Tevine mage as she crouched by a window, trying to overhear something of import. He had laughed at her, and whispered, "Open the window a crack, it'll help their voices carry." And from then on, it was another Dalish custom that Lavellan had smashed to smithereens, becoming fast friends with the mage that had been hunting buried Nevarran skulls in the area. 

  
"That's why I need your help", she said, as she trailed after Dorian into the kitchen. "I don't know what to do!"

"First, and foremost", Dorian said, as he placed two bagels into the toaster, "you need to establish a channel of communication. That, is your first task!" They spent some time conspiring and munching on toasted bread, before  Lavellan set off to her next class with Solas armed with a game plan.  

Meanwhile, Solas had also forced himself into a cold shower directly after their entanglement in the exercise class. He had stood under the cold flow, a litany of discouragement flowing though his head.   
"She's a student. A student. You are her professor, her guide, her tutor. It is wrong to break that trust, where are your morals, old elf, she's practically a child, this is wrong, and bad, and just... Solas! Where is your strength of will?" 

  
Solas had sighed, and spent the time toweling off, getting dressed, and returning to his chambers letting these arguments hold court in his head. He had flung himself into his battered old reading chair, and summoned three Veilfire flames to light his rooms. There, he had forced himself to read the old tomes that were stacked on his desk, forcing himself to take in every line, and understand it, which was very hard when the image of a certain elf stretching kept floating across his brain. He had thrown the books away in anger, only to call them back again, refusing to give in, and had redoubled his efforts, finally falling asleep in the chair. 

  
Whilst Lavellan and Dorian were plotting the best way to crack his facade, Solas had awoken to two distinct feelings. One was the considerable amount of pain that was pounding through his cramped joints, nicely set off by the dull ache of the reddened bruise on his head. The other, he realized, was the throbbing of his cock, where it lay straining against his pants. It seemed to pulse in time to the ache in his head, and his brain replied by recalling the way Lavellan had moved, her back arching, her small and rounded breasts pushing against the thin fabric of her top. 

  
It had seemed that all he could have done was stare, as her brown skin was bared to him, the jut of her hips, the muscles in her arse tight and round. He groaned, and tried to thrust the images away, but it seemed his cock was insistent, because instead what came was the feeling of her falling on top of him, how her hand had plunged between his legs, how much he has suddenly wanted to crush his lips to hers, and how prettily she had blushed when they had spoken. She had been so soft, her scent somehow reminiscent of lavender and vanilla, and so warm against him...

  
" **No**." He spoke aloud, and stood. His cock pressed forward insistently as his head gave another nasty pulse, and he pushed it down irritably. "No. I will not do this. I am not going to indulge in this, it is not what I am here for." He took a breath, and summoned a light casting of ice, pulling it close against his body, and make himself stand in the chill. His skin goose-bumped, and he groaned as the pain in his head doubled as his arousal left him.  
"I have done enough already. It was foolish to even engage in that conversation, let alone hint that I would enjoy more." He often spoke aloud to himself, finding it easier to argue and debate the (usually) esoteric and academic points he was working on. It was novel to be talking himself out of interacting with another, though, as he tended to stay insular as possible within the university. 

  
He paced around the room, staring at the unfinished murals on the walls, and the collection of ancient shards that he was supposed to be assembling. Instead, he felt as if he were slipping on a steeply sloped river bed, and his hands were not finding purchase amongst the reeds.   
Her voice seemed to replay inside his head, the way she had spoken in their mother tongue, the pet name she had revealed to him. He had already gone too far by suggesting that they use their first names with each other, but, a small voice inside him said, hadn't he always been weak? Hadn't he always been tempted? 

He tried to ignore it, and told himself that he would be a bastion of proper conduct the next time they spoke. Which, he thought with a sigh, was today. He spent the morning looking over his notes for the coming lecture, and not thinking about the way her lips might taste, and set out for the lecture hall in a towering mood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might even update again later, I'm so full of this story! I'm so impatient, I just want to write some good ole dirty smut, but the story thinks otherwise, apparently. I bet the upcoming lecture is going to be.... tense!  
> Please let me know what you think, and if anyone would like the job of proofreading my chapters, let me know!


	5. Eyes on the prize....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan is the hook and the reel, and the fisher, all at the same time!

 

Lavellan arrived to the lecture hall a good fifteen minutes early. She chose her spot with care, directly in the middle, front row. This part of Dorian's plan she did not have a problem with, after all, it allowed her to look at him just as much as she might hope he would be looking at her.   
It was what he'd forced her into wearing, that was what she was worried about. She'd never really considered herself a sexual person - all her years in the clan were spent learning about being the best First she could be, and whilst the intricacies and physical components of a sexual relationship were not beyond her, after all, the Dalish were not shy, often embracing very near to camp, she had never thought of herself that way. 

  
She was happy and in tune with her body, and had slid her hands over herself in the quiet moments just before dawn, when the feelings of _wanting_ and _needing_ had risen up inside her, a nameless sort of pressure that grew from her stomach and spread between her legs, and she had learnt how to slip her fingers over her clit and bring herself to quiet and flushed orgasm, but she'd never attached a name or a face to her fantasies. She just thought of being devoured, of being eaten alive with passion, a nameless and shapeless form of lust and sex, but now, she knew, she would be attaching a very particular face to those moments in the pre-dawn light.   
Dorian had chuckled, and said something about her 'blossoming', but Lavellan had just thrown a quick and dirty fireball his way before blushing. She was worried about releasing that feral need from within her, and what might happen if she did. 

  
She felt powerful, though, and in control, albeit barely, and a thick snake of excitement seemed to curl in her belly as she sat and arranged her skirt.   
Dor had strode through her small closet, and tutted disparagingly at everything. He'd snatched the leather mage-skirt that she'd thrown in her pack, and waved a pair of scissors like a threat. It hadn't ended up  _that_ short, she knew, but it was still more leg than she'd ever shown before, preferring to wear leather hunting pants to mages robes. It fell asymmetrically across her body, one side licking at her ankles, the other kissing her mid thigh. 

  
"Legs or breasts, darling, never both." Dorian had said, and thrown a tight turtleneck sweater in a deep green at her. She had tried to tell him it was too tight, but he only chuckled and fussed with a belt at her waist. He'd pulled her hair down out of the Dalish Knot that she wore out of habit, and let her tight curls bloom around her head in a indigo-black halo. A old amulet thrown on nestled just above her breasts, and she'd actually gone the whole hog and worn make up; although she'd outright refused the pinks Dorian had suggested, and instead gone with her normal bronzes and soft fawns. The effect, apparently, was good. Dor had pinched her butt and told her she was simply delectable, and that any man that liked women would agree. She'd said, "what about any elf?", and he'd just twirled his moustache and laughed. 

  
So, here she sat, nervously winding a curl around her finger and letting herself think for a moment about what it might feel like to feel Solas' hands run over her hair, slide down her throat... She made a kind of strangled gasp as the door opened, but it was only the beginning of the trickle of students that signalled the start of the class. She fidgeted, and pulled up the small desk that was tucked by the side of each left hand seat on the row. It hovered two inches above her knees, a curious mix of lyrium and electricity in a Dwarven setting. It was pleasantly warm, and soft puffs of air caressed her bare skin. These were just part of the Dwarven technological upgrades that had secured Dorian's friend Varric Tethras as a resident architect. 

  
The theatre was now full, and a human sat on her left and right. She still felt like a spotlight was trained on her, and she began to feel the creeping blood rise up her cheeks to flush through. The ever-present hum of a crowd of people chattering pulsed through the room, and it was dead on two p.m., the time that this later lecture had been set. It was odd that he wasn't already here, she thought, and started taking deep breaths. 

Outside the door, another elf was taking deep breaths and muttering in a low stream in Ancient Elvhen; a tirade of invective to bolster his reserves and fortify his will.   
"I will not treat her any different. She is a student. I am in charge here. I will be calm. I will be cool. I, I, I..."   
He took one more breath, reminded himself that she had no idea how strongly he actually desired her, and settled his ever present neutral mask over his face. Clasping one fist behind his back, he pushed open the door and strode towards the desk, looking nowhere else, only at the desk. 

"Forgive my lateness," he called through the room, "I was unavoidably detained. Settle down, please, we have a lot to get through today." He placed his laptop to the desk and leaned his staff against it. Connecting the leads to the overhead, he started to stream the slideshow and arrange his lecture notes, all without looking directly at the sea of students.   
He took a step forward, cleared his throat, and looked up.   
It hit him like a ton of bricks, the air in his lungs actually puffing out in surprise. She was right in the middle! At the front! He swallowed, and snapped his jaw closed. Closing his eyes for a brief second longer than necessary, when he opened them he was looking determinedly over her head.   
He coughed, and began to talk, rather faster than he might usually.

  
    "After discovering the Elven ruins in what is colloquially known as the Emerald Plains, it has been posited that Ancient Elves had a far greater control of magic than we do today. Mages amongst this class, myself included, must channel their magic through a staff, or other object. Any magic attempted without it will be weaker and much more unstable. These objects are known as foci..."

  
Lavellan noticed there seemed to be a tick pulsing in his lower jaw. His speech was hurried, as if he was throwing the words out desperately. No one else had picked up on this, she saw, glancing to her left and right. Perhaps it was a mark of how intensely she watched him. She hadn't thought he'd barely even looked at her, but clearly something had caused his attention to waver. She smiled inwardly as she diligently copied down his notes. Perhaps Dorian was right about the skirt. 

  
    "...Certain Artefacts recovered from the site indicate that the _Ha'Varhen_ of Arlathan did use foci, but that it was a rare occurrence. This slide," he clicked a button on his laptop, "shows us a wall carving that seems to display a number of figures -great-casting using only their hands..." 

Lavellan crossed her legs under the desk. The movement must have caught Solas' eye, because he stopped dead once more and stared straight at her. She smiled, softly. He blinked in return, very rapidly, and then coughed, again. She was becoming to really love those little coughs. As he threw himself back into the lecture, she felt that wonderful bubble of excitement rise up from her stomach into her chest, where it seemed to throb almost painfully to the beat of her heart.   
He was now showing the difference between casting with a stave, and with his bare hands. As he stood, arms outstretched and legs apart, whirling the stave as he cast a barrier spell over himself, she sucked in her breath and admired the view. He was like an avenging angel, and the gentle flutters of the lyrium infused desk began to feel rather more lewd than they had previously. It was suddenly much harder to pay attention.

  
He finished the class, and Lavellan took her time slipped her notes back into her bag, adjusting her belt and arranging herself. When she looked up, they were alone. The tension in the air seemed to increase a thousand-fold, and she swallowed rapidly, the noise making a dry click in her throat. He was staring at her, and she felt pierced by the intensity of his eyes. He looked at her like nothing she had ever seen before, and she felt naked as his eyes dropped and raked over her form.   
She approached the desk, and reached out to rest her hand upon it. 

  
"Solas." she said, biting her lip, and looking up at him from beneath her lashes. Solas thought his head might explode; his hours of chastising himself and preparing to be the aloof and uninterested professor had crumbled down in seconds the moment he had seen her softly glowing legs under the desk, her skin glowing a burnished teak, and her hair, (Mythal save me her hair! I want to plunge my fists into it, I want, I want, I _want_ ) he had realised this was a losing battle he was fighting. Telling himself that no matter what, he must try, at least he could then say he _tried_ , he tented his long fingers and replied only slightly breathlessly;

 

"Lavellan. Did you need something?"

   
Lavellan looked at him a beat too long, curiously, and he had to drop his eyes before he gave himself away and pleaded with her to let him plunder her lips, so he began to fiddle with putting his own accoutrements away. 

 

"Solas. It's...well. This is a bit odd, isn't it?" she said. "I was thinking...about the other day -"

  
    "I'm sorry Lavellan, but I cannot stay," he blurted, fingers starting to shake on the worn leather satchel he had just shoved his bag into, "I have a meeting that I must not be late for. Please, excuse my rudeness. Another time?" Internally he sighed at the part of his brain that refused to take the out  that the more sensible part of his brain had given him. 

  
    "Oh, sure. I was just wondering, I, er, didn't quite manage to get down everything you were saying today, _Hahren_ ," (and with the casual Elvhen that she used any remaining walls that were weakly standing collapsed into dust, and his groin twitched and part of him roared in frustration) "and I was wondering if I could ask for your email, so you can send me your notes?" 

  
He glanced up at her, not trusting his eyes not to betray him, and let himself drink in her face for a second. "Of course", he said, losing control over the mask he wore every second, scribbling frantically on a scrap of paper on his desk. "Here." 

  
She took the paper, and leaned in close. He made a fist with his hidden hand, and politely smiled as her lips came within an inch of his own. She smelled like honey-bradh, and his mouth began to water.

"Thank you, So-las." Her lips framing his name sent delightful tingles down his spine and right to his increasingly hard cock, and he surrendered for a second to brush against her lips so very softly with his own. It was like velvet, warm and soft, and it took every ounce of willpower he had left in him to wrench himself away. He grabbed his satchel and staff, which was sparking wildly, and marched, back straight, out of the room. 

Lavellan breathed out, a breath that she didn't even know she was holding, and a small scream of emotion pealed from her lips, she was helpless to stop it. She didn't know what had come over her, but the sight of his eyes burning into her own had made her reach for him, to get close. She had caught a hint of his scent, old books and a warm sweetness, a thread of copper and earth, of blood and magic, and she'd been hypnotised by it. 

  
He'd kissed her! Well. It wasn't entirely a kiss, but their lips had touched, and a burst of lust burned through her, making her laugh with a husky voice and press her thighs together as she leaned on the desk in the empty hall.   
She felt suddenly shaky, as the depth of her attraction hit her, and giddy, as she'd achieved her goal. Clamped in her fist was her prize, a elegant script bearing the words " _SFH.Haselfen@Fereld.ac.th_ ". Dorian was going to be so proud!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD WHY won't my stupid fingers just let them bang already lol! Ah well. It's going to be good, I promise! 
> 
> Also! I need help: should Solas actually be Fen'Harel? Or should he just be Prof!Sola? It will influence how the story goes, whether it follows just a slice of life style or it follows his intentions in the DLC, i.e. *spoilers* restoring Arlathen etc etc? (Don't worry though lol there will be no angst, I'm too weak!) 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	6. Instant.... messaging.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a short update today as I have spent all my day travelling to visit the parentals!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is raw and unedited; just wanted to get this out there, will tidy it up asap!

Lavellan sat on her bed, laptop open. She looked at the screen and her open email client, momentarily paralysed. Dorian sat next to her, nudging her insistently as her hands hovered over the keys.   
"Go on! Look, it's clear he's got a thing for you, you practically kissed him! And it's also clear our dear Solas is not going to make the first move, some stuffy morality thing, I suppose. Personally I don't see the harm in a little frisson between two willing parties, and banging teach is all kinds of naughty. You know how much I like naughty, don't you?"   
He smirked and stroked his moustache, watching Lavellan's face become redder and redder. He opened his mouth to add another salient point, she was sure, but she had heard enough.   
    "Out! I'm having a hard enough time doing this as it is, let along you making everything so ridiculous! Go on, get!" She pushed him off the bed, and he bowed low and exited the room walking backwards, eyebrows waggling, and a filthy smile on his face.   
"Don't say anything I wouldn't, now."   
Lavllen threw him a last face, and as the door closed behind him, let out a great huff of breath. She looked at her screen and remembered how Solas' eyes had seemed to glow in the half light of the lecture hall, the tension in the air that she could have tasted, and that slight yet oh so electrifying touch of his lips upon hers. Feeling that hot bubble inside her swell at the memory, she opened her eyes and began to type.

  
_To: SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
_Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th_  
_Subject: Lecture notes._  
_Hi. Is it still okay to ask for a copy of your lecture notes? There were a few things I missed, and I wouldn't want to fall behind in my studies. Lavellan._

  
To: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Sender: SFHH@FU.ac.th  
Subect: Re: Lecture Notes.   
(1 attachment)   
    Lavellan. Attached are the pertinent notes. Thank you. S. F. H. Hasalfen. 

_To: SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
_Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th_  
_Subject: Re: Re: Lecture Notes._  
_Thanks. I appreciate it. For some reason I found it hard to hold my attention to the slideshow. I'm sure it was very good though.  Lavellan._

To: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Sender: SFHH@FU.ac.th  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Lecture Notes.   
    I'm sure I don't know what you mean, but I do understand that sometimes one's attention can stray. My notes are always excellent. S.F.H.Hasalfen. 

_To; SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
_Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th_  
_Subject: Attention..._  
_I'll have to explain it? Solas, you looked great. I found it hard to look away... especially at the end of the lecture, do you remember? Lavellan._

To: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Sender: SFHH@FU.ac.th  
Subject: Re: Attention...  
    Lavellan... I thank you for your kind words. You too looked... Well, my own attention wavered also. I do remember the incident at the end of the lecture. I would be foolish to let it continue, it was unwise and impulsive. I apologise for breaking your trust. Solas. 

_To: SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
_Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th_  
_Subject: ;)_  
_Solas, you don't need to apologise, it was breathtaking. You say it would be unwise to let anything continue, but as far as I can tell, you haven't said that it won't continue... Does this mean you aren't averse to taking a little risk? It's a good job I'm a student, unwise and more than prepared to act...rashly. L._

To: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Sender: SFHH@FU.ac.th  
Subject: Re: :)  
    Lavellan. I... I did not say that it won't continue. I seem to have spent my life taking risks in the pursuit of knowledge and the application of the Elvhen arts. I am aquainted with risk. I am intimate with it. But as your tutor, I must counsel caution. Solas. 

_To: SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
_Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th_  
_Subject: Re: Re: ;)_  
_Hahren... I hope that is not all you will be intimate with...._  
_As your da'len, I feel it is my duty to disregard my elder's sage advice... and continue being unwise. Did you like my skirt? L._

Lavellan stopped just before she hit send, her cheeks red and her stomach flipping. His dry responses at first had made her doubt, but she had thought of Dorian's impulsivity and plunged ahead. It had paid off, because now heat was spreading through her groin, and she felt like pressing her thighs together to stem the rise of lust that had risen in her.   
Something about Solas warning her to be cautious, and combined with the look in his eyes yesterday had made her seriously aroused.  Her last message was the most daring of them all, and perhaps she might have thought twice about sending it at any other time, but before she could second guess herself, she had hit send, and then stared at the screen, desperate for a response. 

Solas had been sat at his desk, translating the last set of runes that had been discovered from the recent Elvhen dig site when the message had appeared in his inbox. His mouth had run dry seeing what could only have been Lavellan's email address, and the scent of her seemed to swim in front of him as he recalled the soft touch of her lips against his own. His lips began to burn, and he groaned aloud at the level of his desire. He couldn't fathom it, but all his attempts to focus on his work, so important for his People, and deny his feelings for the Elvhen woman were useless. At least _try_ , he counseled himself.   
He managed to hold onto his calm demeanor throughtout the first few mails, but she was as quick to see the subtle openings he had left as he had ( ~~hoped~~ ) feared. Telling the part of his brain that was fast losing control that flirting was harmless, it needn't GO anywhere, he began to reply more honestly.   
A new message had appeared. He opened it, and the contents made him push away his laptop and pace, thick and heady arousal pounding through his head. His hands brushed the hard outline of his cock as he moved, and the slight friction of it made him curse. He decided on the second cold shower of the day, before replying. 

To: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Sender: SFHH@FU.ac.th  
Subject: Dangerous ground.   
    Lavellan. You are walking a very fine line. Be careful what you wish for. 07946 682 258. Solas.

  
**_07921068816: 12.50: I'll take that as a yes, then. On dhea, hahren._**

   
**07946682258: 13.30: On d'hea, da'len.**

  
_**Lavellan: 13.31: You took your time replying**_. 

  
**Solas: 13.32: I was... busy.**

  
_**Lavellan: 13.32: Doing what, hahren?**_

  
**Solas: 13.45: It is of no matter.**

**  
Solas: 14.00: Da'len... you tempt me. **

  
**_Lavellan: 14.01: Good._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No updates for potentially two days, though I've already got an outline for the next chapter!


	7. Got Milk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a comedy of errors, and milk-based smut ;) Definitely nsfw here.

Lavellan looked out of the window. The clouds hung grey and pregnant over the town, casting a thick fog over everything. She shivered, and was glad at that moment that she lived indoors, thinking of her clan in the Marches and the many sodden and shivering autumns she had spent cowering in the leaking aravels of the Dalish. Life as a flat-ear was easier in the winter, she concluded. Dorian had left her two days previous, after an unexpected call from his father. She'd convinced him to go back to Tevinter for the semester break, telling him that perhaps this was the time, that his father was finally seeing sense. Dorian had only sullenly agreed, but he'd heard that his dear friend Felix was ill, again, and that, combined with the overtures of the Pavus Household, had convinced him to travel there. 

  
She worried for him, knowing how hard it was to be estranged from the only family they'd known, and how much their rejection of him had hurt. Stupid Tevines, she'd thought, ignorant and old-fashioned. Anyone could see that Dorian shone, simply shone, with all the brightness and brilliance of a rare gem. She loved him dearly, and had wrapped him in a massive hug as he'd left. 

  
The suite of apartements had been lonely without his vigour, but she had spent the days studying, and baking, and definitely not fantasising about a certain Elvhen man with wicked eyes and lips that sent her feverish into trembling dreams. Their messages had flown back and forth, each getting more and more intense, but without their weekly class, she had not seen Solas since that fateful lecture.   
She looked once more at the clouds, and back at the open fridge. Milk. It was always milk that ran out. Here she admitted that living with the Dalish had the advantage, as fresh Halla milk and cheese was always available.   
She sighed, and knew there was nothing for it. She'd have to run out and grab a few pints before the storm broke. She could feel it in the air, the atmosphere thrumming with a tension that had made her head ache and long for a steaming cup of l _ima'mathal_ , the sweet and custardy posset that the Dalish specialised. It warmed you from the inside out, to the tips of your toes, and she suddenly felt so homesick for a life left behind that she gasped, and held her arms under her chest, pressing against the ache that had flared up and threatened to make her cry.   
Milk, then. She would risk the storm. She knew there was a small shop nearby, and figured she could be out and back in only a few minutes. Pressing her hands to her chest, she grabbed her phone and hurried out, the warm muggy electric air pressing in on her.   
The light was fading, and she jogged along the cobbles, thinking only of the spices she would infuse in the milk, perhaps a slice of orange would add that tang that only Halla milk had.   
The shop, predictably, was closed. She laughed as the sign stared her in the face, her sudden pang of anxiety lifting with the absurdity of it all. Well, shit, she thought, ain't that always the way. The walk had lifted her spirits, and the hunt for milk was on!   
Several streets, and one more closed shop later, Lavellan admitted defeat. It was clear that the fates did not want her to buy milk. Fair enough, she thought, I concede. No milk will be bought. It was as she acknowledged this that the heavens finally opened with a deep rumble of thunder and an immediate downpour, the type of rain that falls thick and fast and soaks you to the bone in seconds. She yelped as she was pelted by fat raindrops, and reached for her keys, ready to sprint back to the safety and warmth of the apartments.   
Funny, she thought, I swear my keys were in this pocket, as she patted herself in the deluge. She replayed her last moments, and felt her stomach fall out the bottom of her linen pants. She saw herself in her minds eye, making the split decision to go, grabbing her phone, and slamming the door. Her keys, thrown on the sofa instead of hanging on the hook, were, of course, she realised, exactly there, where she had left them.   
" _Etunal-etunash Fenedhis_ , Void take me, Maker's bloody BALLS!" she cried, stamping her foot in (soggy) frustration. She was locked out, in the rain, and Dorian was a good five hundred miles away. She screamed in anger and snatched her phone out of her pocket, but in her rage, she lost her grip, and, as if in slow motion, watched it sail out of her grasp, almost gracefully, and land face down into the gutter. Which was, of course, flooding, as the rain showed no sign of abating and a fast flowing river was now carving a path down the sides of the road.   
"AH! ANDRASTE'S TITS! FASTA VAAS! FUCKING... FUCK!" She kicked at the carcass of her phone in a towering fury, and stomped off in the opposite direction.   
Her anger faded as the chill from the rain set in, and her hair hung in sad tails around her face. She wiggled her fingers and wrapped her arms around herself. There was no one to call, and nowhere to go. She chuckled morosely as she imagined spending a night outdoors whilst the worst storm of the year ravaged Ferelden, and decided to put one sodden foot in front of another until she got to Dorian's. Maybe there would be someone with a key, a landlord, or a superintendent of the apartments, or something.   
She was so intent on wallowing in her self created watery hell, that she did not hear the car pulling up beside her, slowing to a crawl. 

  
Solas looked out of the window at what appeared to be a small and very wet child, hunched in the rain and plodding along at a snail's pace. He wondered if he ought to offer any assistance, and wound down the window of his rusty VW Beetle, applying a fair amount of elbow grease to the worn out crank. He managed to get it half way, when something snapped inside the door, and the window stuck. "Void take me", he grumbled, and leaned out as best he could. Solas hated to get wet, much like a cat, and he was already regretting his previous flash of humanitarian concern. Then he caught a glimpse of dark skin and a set of angry gold eyes, and realised that the person out there practically drowning was Lavellan. He threw his head out of the window, blinking away the rain, and shouted for her, a desperate need to protect and care for the woman looking so miserable rising up in him. 

  
"Lavellan! LAVELLAN! For Mythal's sake, get IN!" 

  
Lavellan looked up, frowning at the scene before her. Solas had appeared, out of nowhere, and was frantically pushing on the passenger door of a beat up old banger. Her brain seemed to take a few seconds to process what was going on, but then his shouts filtered through her waterlogged state, and she ran for the car. It took her heaving and him pushing with both hands, but the door popped open with a crunch, and she threw herself into the car, laughing deliriously.   
    "What a pleasant suprise, _Hahren_! Rather wet, this, isn't it?" She grinned as rivulets of water ran off her to pool in the footwell. The situation struck her as ludicrious, and she began to giggle helplessly as Solas tried and failed to pull up the window on his side. Rain was still pouring in, and he swore, giving up and putting the car in gear. Now they were both soaked to the skin, and she couldnt help but giggle at his scrunched up expression and shrivelled set of his shoulders. He looked like an angry kitty being forced to have a bath, and combined with her own drenched state, she smothered her lips with her hand and choked on her laughs.   
They drove for only a few minutes, before they stopped at the back of the University, and she followed him, laughing as they sprinted towards a round building tucked under a grove of trees. Solas fought with his keys, muttering in Elvhen all the while, before the door swung in on them and they fell together into the warmth of his abode. 

  
    They stood, dripping, panting from the exertion, and Solas lifted his hands and _pushed._ The force of his magic swept past them, augmented by the energy from the storm, and the fireplace whooshed into life, the braziers lighting in a plume of red, and a heady warmth flooded over them. Lavellen gaped at the use of magic without a staff, no less, and turned, half a question on her lips, but...  
Solas was staring at her again, that light in his eyes crackling like the fire behind him, and she took half a step involuntarily towards him, mouth parted. That gaze was like a magnet, and she could not but do anything but be drawn to it. Solas held up his hands and broke the connection, and she felt cold suddenly, freezing. She began to shiver, and he looked like a man on fire, soaked to the skin.  
    " _Hahren_. O-oh. I-I'm so c-o-ld! What a storm!" She began to wring out her hair, and he turned, grabbing a set of towels from a nook in the wall.   
    "Lavellan. You need to get out of those clothes. Please, take this." 

  
"Oh, how I've w-waited to hear you s-say that, _H-hahren_ ," she chuckled, catching the towel and wrapping it around herself. 

  
    "Lavellan, please. You'll freeze. Here, let me give you some privacy." He showed her to a small room off the central rotunda, and gestured inside. "There should be something dry at least, check the bed." He looked for a second at the bed, and the fire was back in his eyes. With an effort, it seemed, he withdrew.   
Lavellan looked around. The room was small and cozy, a thick woolen patchwork quilt flung over the bed, along with various furs and pelts. A stack of books sat at the side, and the scent of him was everywhere. Suddenly, she did not feel so cold. This was so intimate, and the soft smell of his permeated the room. She slid her fingers over his pillow, and thought about his neck, his scent, and fisted her hands. There was a tension in the air that had nothing to do with the storm, and her heart pounded at the thought of being here, in his house, after those flirty messages and that small spark of a kiss. 

  
She stripped, her clothes down to her underwear fully waterlogged, and grabbed a sweater that hung over the back of the chair. It was a light fawn colour, and looked like it'd been hand made, with two long trailing points that dipped over the front and back. On her it was practically a dress, which was good, as she'd nothing else to wear. She ran her hands through her hair, and let it fluff out over her shoulders. Rolling up the sleeves, she took a deep breath and padded through the door.  
Solas was standing by the fire, a towel in hand. His chest was bare, apart from the ususal jawbone necklace she'd always seen him wear, and he was rubbing the back of his head whilst staring into the flames. He was stunning, lean and yet sculpted, Lavellan thought, staring at his torso. She wanted to bite each muscle that she could see, and made a small involuntary noise that turned into a choke as he turned and she took in the trail of dark hair running from his navel into his trousers.   
Solas had turned at the noise, and distinctly heard the last of his willpower snapping into smithereens as he drank in the sight of Lavellan, damp and tousled and utterly indecent clad in one of his jumpers. The intimacy of it made his heart clench and a vein of pure fire shiver through him. She stood, smiling shyly, and he let his eyes roam over her, her brown skin, her faint and silvery vallaslin, the pink flush on her lips. She started to speak, but he held up a hand and stopped her in her tracks. He gazed over the twin nubs her breasts created in his sweater, and thought he might die right there, but he let his eyes fall, and took in the gleaming flesh of her legs disappearing into the jumper, and knew all was lost. 

  
    "I am coming over there now, Lavellan." He spoke, and his voice sent shivers through her, it was thick and hoarse and full of a dark promise she'd never known. His eyes were flashing as he advanced on her, and she felt very much paralyzed like the halla before the wolf. It was glorious, and she felt herself surrender to the twisting snake of excitement and tension that roiled in her belly. She reached for him, and managed a shaky jerk of assent when he gathered her into his arms (oh! How they were hard, and soft, and thrumming with power!) and murmured into her hair; "I am going to kiss you now." 

  
She tilted her neck upwards, presenting her face to his hard and burning gaze, and he crushed his lips to hers. Gone was the softness of before, he took from her, demanded her lips and tongue respond to him. He moaned into her mouth and she felt her legs wobble, and his hands wrapped ever more tightly around her waist. Solas plundered her mouth like it was buried treasure, his lips pressing and moulding to hers, his tongue flicking like a flame over her lower lip, seeking entrance. She sighed into his mouth and let his tongue reach out to caress hers, as each movement sent shockwaves of electricity into her stomach. She grasped at the bare skin of his back, and with the small part of her brain that was still working, took the opportunity to run her hands over his shoulder blades, his spine, the soft and warm flesh delightful to knead and squeeze. She dropped her hands as he assailed her mouth, and they rested on the sharp peaks of his hip bones. He jolted like she'd shocked him, and pulled away with a gasp. 

    "Lavellan. I am about to cross that line you've been pulling me towards. Please, speak now, because I cannot think straight, and I..."       
She looked at him, his eyes alight, and felt again that dark power rubbing over her skin. It felt incredible, and she knew that if he was lost, then so was she, irrevocably. Her mind seemed to be flying at a hundred miles an hour, and she thought of all the things that had sent him to that cliff face of desire. She smiled and spoke in Elvhen, " _Hahren_. I am your willing student. Now, teach me to talk this tongue." 

  
He groaned into her hair, whispering about her scent in the rain, and grabbed her, pulled her up into his embrace. His hands slipped over the sweater, and caressed her buttocks through the fabric. He swore, and jerked his hands under her butt and lifted her into him. She thrilled to his touch, delighted in seeing how easily he lifted and held her up. She felt the wall press against her back and felt like she would burst between it and the man pressing his lips into her neck. She wrapped her legs around his hips, feeling with an estatic shock the hard ridge of his cock pressing into her, and wriggled experimentally against it. Her reward was another of those tantalising moans, and Solas pulled away from her neck; "Little halla, be careful. It feels too good, and I am not a strong man..." She quirked an eyebrow back at him, and slowly moved her hips again.   
"You are dangerous, _ma oinuinan_ ," he whispered into her mouth, and then they were moving, faster than she'd thought possible, his hands kneading her arse all the while. Then she felt herself falling down, and she was deposited on a small sofa, breathless and panting for more.   
Solas was standing over her, running his hands over his head, breathing hard. She could see now his erection, and, thinking briefly of what Dor would do, reached out to trace the outline of his cock with a trembling finger.   
He jerked towards her touch, mumbling in Elvhen so fast she couldn't understand him, and she pressed her advantage to slide her palm firmly over his length. He cried out, a harsh sound, and pushed her shoulders back, so she was pinned against the sofa. 

  
    "Not so fast, _da'len_. You must understand the theory before the practical, after all." He dropped to his knees and slid his hands up her legs, marvelling at the softeness of her skin, and tilted her head up into his gaze with one slender finger. He dropped his lips to hers, again, and took a sweet and soft kiss, his tongue tracing her lower lip. She writhed under him, feeling so much, all over, and not knowing where to pour this energy and heat that coiled and crashed inside her, and gasped as his teeth bit into her lip, a sharp feeling that sent a spike through her groin. She was pulling at him, running her hands over his chest, his shoulders, and back to his hips that had gotten her such a good reaction before. She felt the wet fabric of his trousers, and tried to slide her hands under them, to feel more of him, to touch and consume however she could, but he chuckled against her and grabbed her hands, holding them down. 

  
    " _Ma da'len_. Running before we can walk, eh?" He looked at her, and she saw in him the fire she felt inside herself, but he had infinitely more control. He looked at her hungrily, and holding her still, took little kisses from her mouth, her neck, and her forehead.   
"I am lost in you, _ma arasha_ , but I will not let any student of mine skip ahead." He leant in and worked at her neck, nibbling, now licking, now biting with enough force to make her shake, "What did I tell you all in class, hmm, _da'len_?"   
She moaned and tried to wriggle free, but his hands were larger than hers, and he had them captured in one whilst the other held her shoulder down into the back of the sofa. "Answer me, now." he whispered, and accompanied his order with the sharpest bite yet.

She gasped, and managed to choke out; "Thorough study and practice, _hahren_ , please, Solas, I... it feels so good!" 

  
He praised her with another kiss that felt like the storm was here, in the room, and released her hands. "Arms up, da'len. I shall give you your first lesson." She complied, lifting her arms above her head, and blushed (whilst thinking how absurd it was that she should blush at all after kissing Solas with all the abandon in the world) as he drew off that sweater. "You look so good in my clothes, _ma arasha_ , did you know that? Seeing you in this," he balled it up and threw it into a corner, "undid all my good intentions. But seeing you now," and he was staring at her, letting his eyes roam over her body as she fell back onto the sofa, "makes my weakness my strength". He took in her form, the coffee coloured skin, her small breasts rising and falling with each of her breaths, peaked with a rosy nipple, and felt any remaining resolve leave gratefully. 

  
He bent his head to her breast, and took that sensitive peak into his mouth. She bucked under him, crying out, and he wrapped a hand around her hip and pushed her down, savouring her movements. He rolled his tongue over her nipple, feeling it harden inside his mouth, and sucked, hard, as she made the most delightful noises. He felt himself come apart at the seams, a swirl of feelings and emotions and lust and desire, and a thick and heavy throb as his cock begged for release from its cloth prison. He growled as she writhed under him, and laved his tongue across her breast. "Solas!" she breathed, and he fell onto the other hard pebble, sucking as her hips rolled under him. She felt the lightning inside her arc from that sensitive spot right through her body, and her hands gripped his arms as he licked and suckled at her breast. "Solas, please! I... I want you!" she said, but he only chuckled again. "So eager, _ma arasha_ , I like it. Let me teach you the wonders of your body, first." 

  
He dropped his head and kissed down her stomach, licking at the soft curves of her belly, and nuzzling at her sides. She sucked in her breath as she realised what he was going to do, and twisted upright suddenly.   
"Solas! I.. I don't know anything about this! Is it alright? Are you sure?" She felt nervous, suddenly, but the look on his face as he nestled between her legs went a long way to calm her.   
    "Peace, _da'len_. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to... eat you all up," he whispered with a wicked wolfish grin, as he teased off her panties and slid them down her legs, "You are a feast, and I am ravenous. You are so beautiful, _da'len_ , and I want to show you this." 

She sighed and leant back as the kisses on the inside of her thighs began, and closed her eyes in bliss. His breath blew hot on her inner thigh, and she unconsciously opened her legs to feel more of it. He bit her, hard, and sucked as he moaned, and she tasted her own pain and pleasure mixed into a heady cocktail. He kissed her legs softly, and she sighed.   
Solas ran his fingers gently over her outer lips, feeling the soft hair under his thumb, and stroked her open. She was beautiful, her lips shell-pink, curling like rose petals outwards, and glimmering in her readiness. He bent forward and swiped his tongue up her slit, and her eyes flew open at the sensation. She gasped and curled up as his tongue made long, slow, exploratory passes over her lips. It was warm and soft and wet, and felt like a velvet cord being slowly wound inside her. She wanted more, and opened her legs wider still. He felt her move around him, and plunged his tongue in between her folds, teasing her inner lips with quick flashes of his tongue before returning to those maddeningly good long licks on the outside again.   
"Solas!" she cried, writhing under him, "Please, do that again!"   
He spoke as he was pressing kisses to her mound, his voice rumbling through her and tickling her on the inside as well as the out; "You liked that, _da'len_? You want me to show you again?" 

"Yes!" She moaned, and he flicked his tongue expertly between her folds again, diving deep and tasting her wetness. She was exquisite. He dragged his tongue up, up, slowly, until her found that hard bud of her clit, a point of white hot amongst all the warmth surrounding his mouth. Tracing circles with his tongue, he began to devour her, sliding one finger over her lips until it was teasing at the entrance of her cunt. He flicked his tongue back and forth over her clit, and she moaned, her breasts swaying as she pushed against his face. He couldn't help but groan back into her and took her clit in his mouth, sucking lightly as she cried out in pleasure. His finger slipped slowly inside her, and she shouted, pushing down on it, and he panted, reaching down with his other hand to scrabble at the lacings on his trousers. He traced circles with his tongue, lapping and licking at her clit and thrusting his finger inside her, feeling her wet and warm velvet walls tense and move around it as he finally freed his cock. He was dripping for her, and he moaned into her pussy, making her push against his mouth as he stoked his hand down his cock, desperate for her. 

  
"Solas, please, gods! I want you! Won't you have me?" she cried, and he almost took her there and then, her request so filling him with desire that he felt blind to all else. Instead, he slid another finger in her and chased her orgasm with his tongue, now flicking firmly across her clit in hard and steady strokes. He could feel her muscles tensing around his fingers, and a pink flush had appeared on her chest and face, and her breaths were coming in short pants.

  
"So..Solas! Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh, please, don't stop...ugh...please, ah, oh..." A litany of broken words and Elvhen streamed out of her as she felt a warm point grow in her groin, a point of light and heat that flickered in time to his tongue, and she panted and tried to move into it, tensing to make that flicker come back, again, again, and his fingers filled her and pressed in her, and his tongue was getting faster, and she felt like she might break apart because her lungs were expanding and her back arching, and then, that flame (there it was again, getting bigger and bigger, and if she just squeezed, ah, it's back, now again, please again, oh, it's awful-wonderful make it stop never stop please it's growing it'll burst I'm going to b-b-urs--sss..t...) grew to the point of no return inside her and she came, orgasming hard around his fingers and twitching as the pleased sounds he made vibrated against her clit, which was pulsing and clenching as the waves grew ever smaller until she was bathed in a beatific peace, panting at the ceiling and unsure she could ever move again.   
Solas had not stopped stroking his cock as he felt her come, and the soft mewls of her orgasm had given him the blinding flash of release, his cock pulsing and jerking in his hand as he came, wishing he had buried himself inside her. 

  
He looked up over at her, licking his lips and grinning. "My, _da'len,_ you are a quick study. Come, rest with me." He bent to kiss her, licking away the mewls as she flapped her hands helplessly at him, and scooped her up. His heart was pounding with what they had just done, and he knew there was no going back now. He'd never been one for regrets, anyway, he thought, and pulled back the furs on the bed. 

  
    "To think, _da'len_ , all I wanted was some milk." He chuckled, sliding in beside her.   
"Milk?!" she cried, and turned to him, looking comically suprised. She gaped at him for a second, then collapsed into peals of laughter, rocking back and forth holding her ribs on the bed. Solas didn't know why exactly that was funny, but smiled and kissed her when he could.   
"Yes, _ma arasha_ , I'd run out. Why is this so funny? It happens to the best of us, I am afraid." She choked and giggled helplessly, wiping tears of mirth out of her eyes. "Ah, _Hahren_ , I'll tell you later", she said, still letting a small laugh escape now and then. He raised that ever-present eyebrow, which set off another attack of laughter, and settled for wrapping an arm around her and kissing her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Etunal-Etunash -- Shitting shit!   
> Fasta Vaas (Tevine) - (no official translation) For fucks' sake!   
> Lima'mathal - lemony-milk. (like a posset)   
> Da'len - my student/ my child  
> Hahren - my elder / my tutor  
> Ma arasha - my happiness  
> Oinuinan - Baby nug. 
> 
> YAS FINALLY SMUT. Though not the whole way, phew, more smut to come later!


	8. Consequences!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan decides to not let Solas forget the night they spent, with memorable consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the break, I've been busily playing more DA:I, and struggling with horrific never-ending heartburn.   
> I swear it's Solavellan induced :P

Lavellan woke to streams of dusty light filtering though a pair of ratty cavas curtains. She groaned blearily, and stretched, reaching for the glass of water she always kept by her bed. When it was not forthcoming, the events of the night before; locking herself out, the storm, Solas buried between her thighs, suddenly rushed back into her head and she gasped and bolted upright, fully conscious.   
She was in Solas' bed. His bed. The storm had broken between them last night, in more than one sense. She looked around, listening intently, but it seemed she was alone. She slipped out of the bed, and padded over to her clothes, which were still drying on the backs of chairs in the bedroom. They were damp, and cold. Shivering slightly, she grabbed the sweater that she'd borrowed the night before, and shuffled out of the room. 

  
A single embrium flower lay on the desk, surrounded by the ususal piles of papers and books. Picking it up, she saw under it lay a hastily scrawled note.

  
     _Da'len.  
Whilst it would have given me no greater pleasure than to wake with you, alas, a dawn meeting with Mme De Fer awaits. I have an unhappily full schedule today, but anticipate your messages. Please, treat my home as yours. S._

  
She looked at it whilst inhaling the scent of the flower. It seemed like a dream - had he really done that to her last night? Somehow the storm had taken away that barrier, and she shivered in remembered pleasure.   
Pulling on her damp leggings and stuffing her damp sweater and top into a bag she'd found, she made her way back to her apartments, and began poking around the basement level, looking for the superintendent, to begin begging for a spare key.   
It had taken half an hour of pleading, and a hastily arranged phone call to Dorian, who had assured the grumpy old man that yes, Lavellan did indeed live with him, and yes, please do issue her a new key, immediately, to finally get access to the apartment. She flopped into the chair as the miserly man closed the door behind him, muttering about "Tevines" and "that damn Pavus".

First problem first, she thought, and dug out her laptop. She skyped Dorian, who she knew would be waiting to make fun of her for losing her keys, and sighed when his face appeared, barely holding in the mirth.   
    "Oh, you poor thing, you." floated out of the speaker. Even through a tinny laptop, he sounded condescending and sarcastic. Lavellan rolled her eyes and made a rude gesture at the screen.   
"Wait until you find out what happened after I left my keys at home, you wretch," she said, "and if you keep being so horrid I shan't tell you. So, there!"   
Dorian's eyebrows rose on screen. Even five hundred miles away, he could smell gossip like a mother could smell elfroot on their teenaged offspring. "Spill. Now!" He pleaded. Lavellan saw an opportunity, and took it. "Not until you tell me how it's going where you are, Dor. How's Felix? How's...your father?"   
Dorian's gleeful expression fell. She knew this was trip was going to be hard on him, but seeing his pain written across his face made her heart ache. 

He took a deep breath and said; "Felix is...worse. They're dosing him with lyrium almost daily now, but it makes no difference. They think a shard of some sort of blighted lyrium got into him during the last archaelogical dig, and it's causing some kind of cancer. One that even magic cannot fix. He, of course, is joking with the sisters, flirting with the nurses. Nothing stops him from enjoying every second he has. I love him for it, Lavellan. Seeing him made it worth coming." He hesitated, and Lavellan said, "and your father?"   
Dorian rolled his eyes. "He's still there. I'm still gay. So. An impasse, shall we say? At least he is being civil. But enough of this! Tell me what happened, you minx!"  
   
Lavellan wiggled her eyebrows, and leaned closer to the screen to whisper; "Shan't. Will give you something to look forward to, won't it?" She laughed as Dorian howled and began to curse. "You'll just have to hurry home for all the... juicy... details", she said, emphasising the word.   
Dor's eyes opened wide and he cawed, "Something happened with the Professor, didn't it?! Andraste's tits! Sweet Qunari BALLS!" Lavellan laughed with him, but remained resolute, and even his very best charming did nothing to persuade her to share the details. However, she logged off with the location of one of Dor's secret stashes, with the order to get a new phone, immediately. 

  
She smiled, stretched, and threw her arms above her head. In one night, she'd flirted, laughed, and been thoroughly satisfied. It felt delicious. However, she was fast learning that sexual appetites never felt fully sated, not when you were mad for the other. She thought of the soft noises Solas had made, as his lips had worshipped her cunt, and the tensing of his muscles under her hands. He had groaned, and the remembrance of that noise sent a shiver straight down her spine where it coiled into her groin and made her clit pulse. She wanted more, to feel him fuck her, to feel all of him against her. It was maddening, and delightful.   
She quickly opened her webcam and snapped a quick photo. She felt sexy, and powerful, and wanted to make sure her erstwhile teacher didn't quickly forget the night they'd shared.   
She slipped the hanging front of his sweater between her legs, and let it cover her vulva, so that all you could see was her long brown legs and a hint of sex. 

_To: SFHH@FU.ac.th_  
Sender: Lvennug@thedamail.th  
Subject: Can't stop...  
(1 Attachment)  
        Thinking of you... Professor. Enjoy your day. L x

  
Solas felt his phone vibrate and tried to discreetly turn it off, fumbling with the screen in the hope the Iron Lady wouldn't notice. Vivienne De Fer noticed everything, of course, and a slight raise of her eyebrows made him cough and apologise.       
    "My apologies, Vivienne, I--"  
"No need to apologise, darling, I assume it is a pressing matter?" She made it sound like anything else would be absolutely not tolerated. Solas internally rolled his eyes and made the effort to be appear both obseqious and chastised. "Of course."   
As she turned away and continued her discourse of the disparity of student enrollments and actual attendance, noting that perhaps a photographic or lyrium-powered log of attendees to lectures might be appropriate, Solas discreetly looked down at the screen. A new email. He frowned, and swiped to open it. He looked up as he pressed the 'open' button, making sure De Fer's attention was still elsewhere, and glanced down.   
A pair of shapely naked legs and half of his sweater filled his screen, the placement of the garment making it painfully clear that it was the only item of clothing the owner of those fantastic long legs wore. He felt all the blood rush to his head, and fumbled the phone, coughing in suprise. It was his turn to watch his phone fly in slow motion from his desperately grasping fingers to land, face up, on the floor with a loud clunk.   
He froze in a pitiful tableau as Vivienne de Fer, the Iron Lady herself, noted no-shit-taker, bent gracefully and retrieved the phone. Solas wished the screen would turn off, and found himself praying (a fact that he would find ironic later, he was sure) to a list of all the gods he could name. He lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of the Dean of Students, and tried to look composed. Her eyes flicked down, and took in the photo. He watched in mortified slow motion as her eyebrows raised higher than he ever thought it was possible, and noted the absolute silence in the staff room. His embarrassment had an audience, apparently.   
Vivienne pursed her lips, and presented the phone, still face up and brightly displaying Lavellan's (excellent) legs, to him. 

  
    "Yes. I can see this is quite the pressing matter indeed." She spoke lightly, but Solas knew in that instant that her opinion of the Elvhen as little more than animals was cemented.   
"Here." She thrust the phone at him, and he grabbed it, still a rich redolent red, and started to stutter incoherently at her; "Madame de Fer, a mistake, I can assure you -"

  
She just stared. Didn't the woman blink? Solas thought wildly. "I'm sure." She said crisply, and turned away. Solas fought the urge to bury his head in his hands, but the feeling of twenty pairs of curious eyes upon him made him calmly slip his phone in his pocket, where he was sure he could feel it burning red hot, and utter a silent thanks that at least no one else had seen what was on the screen. As much as he wanted to simultaneously run, argue with the Dean, and wildly just scream at the heavens, he instead crossed his legs and let a small, disinterested smile cross his features. It was ruined slightly by his (still) bright red face, but nevertheless, he pulled his serious mask back into place and swore that he would not let it slip again.   
    "A log of attendees, Madame de Fer? That sounds like an excellent idea." 


	9. Well!

Solas left his meeting in a blind panic, the forms of his colleagues all a flesh coloured blur. He strode through the autumn leaves, kicking them out of the way as the image of Lavellan's legs burned into his brain, his jumper nestled between her thighs, and his memories of her soft and sweet cunt becoming louder and louder in his head until he arrived back at his lodgings. He slammed the door shut, and threw himself onto the sofa. It still smelt of her; and he wrestled with the ties in his trousers as his cock throbbed horribly beneath them. He freed himself from his pants and groaned, hurriedly palming his cock and wrapping his fingers around the shaft. He felt out of control, lost in a whirling dervish of memories and completely a slave to his lust.   
He remembered the breathy moans he had elicited from her, and the way her hips had moved under his mouth, and pumped his hand faster along his cock, desperate for release, but it was the memory of her falling asleep next to him, her hair fanned out in a dark halo and the soft innocence of her face as she slept that made him come, panting, into his fist.   
He sat there, breathing hard, feeling his erection slowly diminish, and laughed at himself. He rested his head against the sofa and closed his eyes. He felt like a teenager, running away from his obligations to snatch a moment of privacy to jerk off. He, of all people, was not only involved with a student, but apparently was mad for her, too.   
All his responsibilities had rolled away from him for a few hours, all his grand plans and schemes, and he had felt like a simple elf again, an elf feeling something for another.   
It shocked him how long it had been since he had let himself properly feel. 

The abiding sadness rushed back at him, and he rose to clean himself off, wishing that his duties would have stayed away just a while longer. He looked at the mirror in his bathroom as he washed his hands, and flinched as the image shifted, the coils of black smoke rising from his chest and roiling around his figure. Six red eyes floated above his own, and the whispers started to crowd into his ears; _Betrayer. Thief. Dread Wolf_. He turned away, and felt as though all the world's gravity had doubled and was again resting on his heart.   
  
He paced, retreating from the world of the living, starting the process of peeling off the petals of humanity his night with Lavellan that'd bloomed on him, resolving as always, to be what he was, the trickster, the betrayer, and becoming more grim and fatalistic by the second, when his phone vibrated again in his pocket.   
  


**[unknown number]**

**So... Did you like my pic? This is my new number. Lx**

 

Against his will, the black stain inside him retreated and, unbeknownst to him, his lips tugged up in a smile. It was a picture that would have made many of his old friends surprised - the Dread Wolf captivated by a quickling elf, forgetting his cares.   
He had sat again, his fingers flying over the keys in response, and with every press, the world that he'd inhabited with her curled more insidiously into his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super small I know. I'm struggling right now - meds aren't working like normal, and I can't seem to exist without great effort. But the story is there, inside me, somewhere. I'm sorry.


	10. Filler Texts from Outer Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its filler... because I want to do something with this story, and I need to make them go on a date. hence this setup.... it's not my best for sure, but it's something, right#? :P

The slight rumble of an incoming text vibrated across her bed, and Lavellan lunged for it, throwing aside the towel she was using to dry her hair.

**[Solas]**   
**You are in so much trouble, da'len.**

Lavellan smirked, a ghost heat of longing shivering across her naked body, and knew that she had hit her mark. It felt so good to be bold, and forthcoming. Being First meant that she did not lack for confidence, but rather that it must be used only in official and sanctioned ways. This brazen flirtation felt so delicious, so completely different from anything that would have gone on back in her clan, and she was determined to enjoy it, to squeeze as much pleasure as she could from it, with much the same attitude that she employed with her studies.   
She glanced at her reflection in the full length mirror, and smiled softly at the twin circles of pink glowing from her brown cheeks. Her vallaslin shimmered in the mid morning sun and she ran a hand over her body, cupping a breast and sliding down to toy with the thick patch of black curls between her legs. She couldn't stop thinking about him! About his hot breath on her thighs, and the way his tongue had swept her away. She sighed, and began to dress, trying to imagine what it would feel like if had been his cock, instead. Lavellan knew she had to have more, but she also knew that Solas was experienced. She needed help, and for that, she needed Dor. He wasn't due back for another four days, however, so, Mythal help her, she'd have to manage until then.   
She wanted it to be perfect, she mused. Tugging on a pair of joggers and a vest top, she grabbed her keys and phone and decided to go for a jog; to give her time to think up the perfect response and to keep this tantalising feeling swimming inside her for as long as possible.

Solas was not looking at his phone. He was reading. He was most definitely very interested in the pages of this report, and was not flicking impatient eyes at the screen of his phone at all. Every minute.   
He looked down with a sigh and tried to focus. This particular epistle was the closest he'd been to a hint of his Orb in decades. It might of course just be all conjecture, but something about the way it was written made him believe. The field archaeologist that had published the book had discovered what appeared to be another site of Ancient Elvhen ruins. He doubted that there would be anything useful there, but he couldn't ignore it. Not when his own memory was so flawed and weakened from his long slumber.   
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, pushing away the encroaching headache with a muttered curse, and rose to brew some tea. His failings crept with him, a burden that nothing could shift, a weight that he deserved, for had he not been rash? Had he not been stupid, and paid the price of it? His shoulders slumped and he gripped the kitchen counter and hung his head. It was done. All that he held dear had been lost, and so he must fix his mistakes. Perhaps a fade visit to the new ruins? As he contemplated the energy required to undertake the fade walk there, his phone chimed, and he leapt for it like a drowning man, desperate for the present to pull him away from the mire of the past.

_**[Lavellan]** _   
_**Am I now? U'll hav 2 punish me then....** _

He shook his head in grinning disbelief at the cheeky elf that gave him respite from his daily struggles, and began to imagine the ways in which he could pleasure her, letting the memory of her soft thighs and sweet slippery cunt permeate his aching body. Just as he was about to reply, his phone beeped again.

_**[Lavellan]** _   
_**but first...coffee date?** _

As he considered the dangers of being seen out in public with her (his recent approval of Vivienne's identity roster poking at his thoughts, if he was caught, it wasn't as if they'd be caught fucking, was it? He could say it was a study meeting, a tutor merely dispensing his wisdom, surely nothing could be inferred from that, perfectly acceptable, surely?) his fingers tapped out an acceptance and he brewed his hated tea with a smile on his face and the weight of his sins halved at least. He found himself contemplating the fade walk ahead of him with a pleasant anticipation, and resolved that the present pleasures could only enhance his work recovering the past, as it gave him the strength to carry on. It sounded a lot like justification, but the Dread Wolf was a master of deception, and lying to oneself was surely the most potent form of that.

  
Lavellan read his simple "yes" and wanted to jump with glee. There was something simmering between them that made her feel drugged, and the elf wanted to know more about the mystery man that made her cum so hard she felt like she might pass out. She wiped the sheen of sweat off her forehead, and let herself back into the apartment. Grabbing a drink, she rattled off a text to Dorian requesting his help, with the promise of full disclosure as soon as he returned, and pulled up a search for that Qunari bar he'd come home from - surely a place in the Qunari quarter was more than discreet for a coffee date with her lecturer?


End file.
